Phoebe, you write a mean poem.
Mr. G, I shudder to think what might happen should you ever leave the seat up.

If I had to guess your age when that picture was taken, Phoebe, I would. Since I don’t, I will not voluntarily put my foot in my mouth. (This may mark the first time in my life where this has been avoided.)

Best wishes for a great new year for you both, your blog and our Country.

I gather you were selling Christmas trees in FL this Christmas season, how’d that go? My nephew is in his 3rd year selling trees in Brevard, NC and had his worst year ever. Did you have a good season? Is this something you’ve done before or is the tree biz new to you? From what little anecdotal info I’ve gleaned, it was not a great year for most. Flat to down most typically.

So the ambiguity gotcha, huh? :) Actually, I was just having a little fun with that. I really got a good laugh out of the poem. And about the age thing, some things remain ever true, such as the fact that only wine and women get better with age.

I’ll end your curiosity, and yes, I’m going out on a limb and assuming you’re curious, I was 46.

Mr. G isn’t actually selling trees, he works for his brother, they distribute them to Home Depots in South Florida. He came home for two days at Christmas and then went back the day after Christmas to pick up the trees that didn’t sell, he should be home by Friday. I was going to go with him this time but I have a knee issue going on. Now that Christmas is over he’ll have to go back to working his real job, he’s a self employed carpenter.